


Identity

by gleefulmusings



Series: Turning Tables [6]
Category: Glee, surprise crossover - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5947984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleefulmusings/pseuds/gleefulmusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b><span class="u">Prompt #31</span>:</b> Relentless</p>
    </blockquote>





	Identity

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt #31 :** Relentless

"I just don't understand what the big deal is!"

Kurt stared at Mercedes. His anger at her snooping through his belongings had long since evaporated. Honestly, he wasn't even that surprised. Well, perhaps that it had taken as long as it had. Truly the fault laid with him. He had been expecting it and therefore should have taken stronger precautions.

And, of course, this had to happen today of all days.

"It's just a place, Kurt," Mercedes said before sighing. "Look, I shouldn't have been looking through your drawers, but I really was only trying to find your flat iron! Besides, we agreed a long time ago that haircare emergencies trumped something trivial like privacy."

He winced. There was definite truth in her words.

Conscious of the other sets of eyes upon them, he released a slow, controlled breath.

"Mercedes," he said quietly, "there are things that are private, and then there are things that are _private_." His eyes met hers. "This is one those things."

Her own eyes widened in response, obliquely understanding the importance of her transgression.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

He covered his eyes with a hand and nodded weakly.

"Kurt?" Artie hesitantly asked. "Is everything okay? Are _you_ okay?"

"What exactly is the situation here?" Santana interrupted, eyeing Kurt with true concern. "There's nothing shocking about being born in Illinois. At least Illinois has Chicago. As a state, it beats Ohio hands down." She inched toward him. "So what's the real story, Tink?"

"You can trust us, Kurt," Rachel said.

He turned suspicious eyes on her.

She had the grace to blush and offer a little shrug. "Well, with the big things at least."

"And this is a Big Thing, right?" Puck guessed. "I've known you a lot of years, Princess, and I know when you get really quiet like this, it's time to worry."

Kurt bit his lip. "I never wanted you to know this. I didn't want this to touch you."

"Are you adopted or something?" interrupted an anxious Finn. "If you are, it doesn't matter. I mean, I guess it does, but you're still Kurt, you know? Burt loves you like whoa. We're still brothers no matter what. We always will be."

Kurt had watched too many movies to ignore the signs. When friends and family started making declarations of love, the shit was about to hit the fan. He just ... by now he knew better than to dismiss his intuition, Mercedes had found his birth certificate tonight for a reason.

"We need to get out of here," he said urgently. "We'll split up; half in my Navigator and the rest in Santana's Suburban." He shook his head. "Thank god Dad and Carole went away for the weekend."

"Kurt, what is going on?" Quinn demanded. "I'm not about to just get in a car and be driven who knows where without knowing why. Why are you so rattled? What does being born in Illinois have to do with anything?"

He nervously licked his lips. "I'm not adopted. Dad is my natural father and Mom was, well, my mom." He hesitated. "But she wasn't born Suzanne Hummel."

"Well, sure," said a reasonable Tina. "She had a maiden name."

"She did," Kurt said slowly, "but her first name wasn't Suzanne. She … she … oh, god."

Brittany and Sam immediately stood at his sides, wrapping him in a hug.

"Kurt, you know you can tell us anything, right?" Sam asked. "No matter what dramas we have going on with each other, we're a group. You come for one, you get us all. That's what Glee is all about."

"Damn right," Mike and Puck said simultaneously.

"I love you," Brittany whispered. "Nothing you could tell me would ever change that."

Kurt turned and stared into her eyes. Out of all of them – his best friends, his brother, the boy he loved, allies and rivals – he loved her the most. He had to protect her.

"I would die if anything happened to you," he breathed, shaking his head. "I couldn't go on if I lost you."

That just set all of Santana's warning bells off, but Puck grabbed her arm before she could voice her many objections. When she turned to glare at him, the fierce look on his face convinced her to stay quiet.

"And I would kill anything that tried to hurt you," Brittany said sharply, cocking her head. "That's what this is, right? Someone's after you. Not like Karofsky. Worse."

He gave a bleak nod.

"What about Karofsky?" asked a confused Finn.

"Doesn't matter," Quinn said quickly, ignoring the blatant stares of Mercedes and Rachel. "Kurt, what can we do? How can we help you?"

She flinched when he turned to look at her. "Try to live."

Artie blanched. "You're serious."

"Deadly."

"What does this have to do with your mother?" asked a spooked Tina.

"It's not her," Kurt said. "It's who she is. It's to whom she was born. It's her family."

"Your mom's family is after you?" Santana said. "You mean your aunt and grandmother?"

Kurt shook his head. "Lies. Camille was my mother's best friend, not her sister. Katrine is not my real grandmother, but she did help my mother fake her death. The first one, I mean."

"The first … what?" Rachel trilled.

" _Is_ your mother dead?" Puck asked.

"She is now," Kurt said. "She faked her death years before I was born to get away from her family. Katrine helped her before moving back to France. It wasn't long after that Mom met and married Dad. Then they had me. Then she died. You don't fake cancer unless you're a Real Housewife."

"The levity is unamusing," said a surprisingly lucid Brittany. "Why did your mother fake her death?"

"She was just following family tradition," said a bitter Kurt. "Her own mother faked her death, abandoning Mom into the foster care system before starting her life over in California. She even had another child."

"Then she's a fucking bitch," Santana snapped. "What kind of asshole does something like that?"

"Someone who's terrified," Kurt said quietly. "It's not an excuse, but I have to believe she was so traumatized and terrified, she honestly thought Mom would be better off without her, that she would draw his attention away from her daughter."

"Whose attention?" Mercedes asked.

"It didn't work," he continued. "He eventually found her, but he got to Mom first." He paused. "I … I don't know what happened to her when he had her." He looked down at the floor and swiped angrily at the tears falling from his eyes. "I know she had a baby during that time. A boy. I don't know what happened to him or if he's even still alive. I don't think Mom ever knew either."

"You have a brother?" Finn quietly asked.

"I have a _second_ brother," Kurt corrected. "You said always and meant it. So do I."

Finn gave him a pained smile, ashamed of his relief.

"And your father knows all of this?" Rachel asked.

"Of course. Dad's done his best to protect me, to keep me hidden from … him."

"Who is this guy, Kurt?" Sam demanded. "Why are you so scared of him? It's just one dude. You're not a pushover. I know how strong you are. You've got me, Finn, Puck, Mike, and Santana here to help you kick ass."

"Hey!" shouted those not mentioned.

Kurt reached and cupped his hand against Sam's cheek. "You have no idea. None. He is relentless. He is a _monster_. He should have been killed years ago, but he just. Never. _Dies_."

He looked back at Brittany. "You know now, don't you?"

She gave a fearful nod. "Haddonfield, Illinois. She went there to have you because he thought she was dead. It was her giving him the metaphorical finger. He might have ruined her life there, but she gave birth to a new one."

He forced a smile. "That's why you're the smartest one, Sweetness." He turned to face the rest. "My mother's real name was Jamie Lloyd. Her mother was Laurie Strode. Laurie's brother, my uncle, is Michael Myers."

They stared at him.

Puck finally burst out laughing. "Oh, come on! Even if that were true, Michael Myers is dead! Has been for years. And even if he wasn't, he'd be in his early hundreds by now."

"He's been presumed dead many times, Noah," Kurt whispered, "but he always comes back, and he's only fifteen years older than our parents."

Puck stopped laughing.

"He first came for Laurie the Halloween after she turned seventeen. My mother faked her death to get away from him on Halloween … after she had turned seventeen. When he last turned up, he had found Laurie living in California with her son – twenty years after that first night. Her son had just turned seventeen."

"Probably the only man who remembers his anniversaries," Santana said darkly.

"Tonight is Halloween," Sam said.

"Yes," Kurt agreed, "which is why we're half-dressed in our costumes." He clenched his jaw. "And we all know how old I turned on my last birthday."

"That doesn't mean anything!" Rachel insisted. "I know the stories, Kurt. I've read about them. Laurie Strode killed Michael Myers ten years ago on Halloween."

"No, she didn't," Quinn interrupted, face white with fear. "You obviously didn't do your due diligence, Rachel. Michael Myers faked his death _again_. He put his mask on the ambulance driver and that was who Laurie killed. She had a psychotic break when she found out and was institutionalized. Michael Myers killed her at the asylum the next Halloween."

Rachel paled and leaned against the chair, equally shocked that Quinn knew something she didn't as she was about the fact that Michael Myers was alive.

"Did he?" Kurt asked.

Quinn stared. "It was pretty widely reported, Kurt! There was an autopsy. Her son made a statement."

"And then he disappeared." He arched a brow. "Coincidence?"

"None of this presupposes Myers knows about you," Mike said reasonably. "Why would he? As far as he knows, Laurie and Jamie are dead. If he was out there looking for the last of his family, wouldn't he go looking for Jamie's first child?"

"How do we know Michael hasn't already found him?" Kurt countered. "No one knows who he is or what happened to him."

"That still doesn't mean the Bogeyman is after you," Puck said flatly, "but I'm not standing around here waiting to find out." He shook his head. "Look, Princess, I did you a lot of wrong, but you're my boy now. I, like, kind of love you and shit. So for the sake of argument, let's say you're right and Uncle Mikey wants a family reunion. I say we use your plan and get the hell out of here."

"Puck's right," Santana said. "This is too big for us. That fucker has been shot in the head how many fucking times? He doesn't die. He's been stabbed, shot in both eyes and six times in the chest, run over with a car, and set on fire. I don't know what the fuck he is, but I'll be just fine not finding out. Let's go."

"You can't be serious!" Rachel squawked.

"Bump that, Junior Miss," Mercedes said. "This shit just got way too real. I've seen enough horror movies to know that I, as a black chick, do _not_ want to be around here when a psycho killer pops up." She turned to Mike. "Right?"

"To quote you, _hell to the naw_ ," he agreed. He leaned down and scooped Artie up into his arms. "Finn, get the chair. We're getting the fuck out of here."

Finn stood and raced toward the hall closet. "Puck, get the chair. I'm getting Burt's guns."

"Fuckin' A," Puck said.

"I thought guns couldn't kill him," said a snide Rachel.

"It's called a running start, dumbass," Santana sniped, "and if I get my way, you'll be the first sacrifice."

Finn came running back, arms filled. "Who here can shoot?"

Kurt, Puck, Sam, Santana, and, surprisingly, Brittany and Quinn raised their hands. Finn quickly passed them the weapons he had taken, leaving his arms empty. He could shoot, but his aim wasn't great. He knew it was much more likely he'd end up shooting himself or someone he cared about.

"Where will we go?" whispered a frightened Tina, tears streaking down her face.

"Who gives a shit?" Quinn volleyed. "Let's just keep driving until we run out of gas."

The others nodded and grabbed their purses and bookbags, quickly shedding the costumes they had donned over their athletic wear only moments before.

"Guys?" Mercedes softly called. "I don't think that's an option anymore."

They turned to find her staring out the front window.

There was a rumble of thunder and crash of lightning. The power was gone.

Another crash illuminated the white mask of a man standing across the street, staring at the house, head cocked and a butcher knife in his right hand.


End file.
